


in darkness i follow you

by leighbot



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:16:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5936464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbot/pseuds/leighbot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What do you mean ‘you knew’?” Louis pouts, standing in the middle of Zayn’s sitting room. Harry, Liam and Niall are all shoved into a small sofa.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“We knew you were a bit stupid about Zayn,” Liam explains.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Louis would sputter an excuse and attempt a denial but Zayn starts giggling- actually giggling- and he looks so happy when Louis glances over to him that it doesn’t see important.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Or, four glimpses into Louis and Zayn's relationship through the years. With bonus side!Narry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in darkness i follow you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strong/gifts).



> This is 100% inaccurate, hardly even canon compliant since I didn’t go with any of the actual tattoo-canon and completely pretended girlfriends didn’t exist at any time. Super fluffy with just a hint of smut.
> 
> strong, I am so sorry you had to wait so long for your fic. I hope you like this. It veered slightly away from your prompts, but it was definitely inspired by them.
> 
> Title from Years & Years

**_in the beginning, it’s easy_ **

They’re together all of the time, affectionately claiming Bus 1 as their home away from home and locking the other boys out at least one night a week to have their super-secret ‘Partners in Crime’ meetings. Harry pouts the first few times but soon makes it a point to host his own his own hipster-inspired, aesthetically-charged evenings with the other two, who go along with it primarily because the food Harry serves is miles better than the crisps and frozen chips that Zayn and Louis plow through after a smoke.

The long nights alone bleed through the edges of the tour into their time off, the two of them spiriting away for quick vacations together and holing up at one of their London houses when they’re back home. They do everything together. They practically live together. So it isn’t a surprise when their casual hooking up for convenience turns into something more, something that inspires a conversation, gets a label and requires an actual band meeting.

The others don’t seem to be shocked.

“What do you mean ‘you _knew_ ’?” Louis pouts, standing in the middle of Zayn’s sitting room. Harry, Liam and Niall are all shoved into a small sofa and Zayn’s clutching his hand.

Well, okay, Zayn’s allowing Louis to clutch onto _his_ hand, but it’s just semantics.

“We knew you were a bit stupid about Zayn,” Liam explains.

Louis would sputter an excuse and attempt a denial but Zayn starts giggling- actually _giggling_ \- and he looks so happy when Louis glances over to him that it doesn’t see important. He _has_ been stupid about Zayn for a long time, so it isn’t like a lie at all.

 

 

**_in the middle, it’s foolish_ **

Like most bad decisions, this one comes about from an overwhelming sense of boredom on a cold, rainy night when they’re locked in their hotel under strict orders to stay on their floor. So, they naturally find themselves at a tattoo parlor.

“What’ll it be then?” the artist asks them, her smile and half-pink hair bright in the otherwise dim shop. Zayn shows her the sketch Louis and he had picked, ‘Bus 1’ in a stamped font face. “Okay,” she says, seemingly uninterested in the reason behind two boybanders crowding into her shop well into the night. “Where?”

Louis looks up, catching Zayn’s eye. At Zayn’s shrug and his calm, open expression, Louis runs his index finger along the side of Zayn’s palm. “Here,” he says, voice pitched low to hide any emotion he might betray.

It feels different from any tattoo he and Zayn have, even different from the screws they’d gotten with Liam and Harry. These tattoos are just for them: for their bus and their memories. It’s the surest sign they’ve given that this _thing_ between them is real- the plans they’ve been whispering about regarding the future is actually happening. They’re in this, together, no matter what.

Louis drags his finger away from Zayn’s skin once he realises he’s lingering, nods at the tattoo artist who just grins and nods back. Zayn sits on a stool she kicks out for him, letting her grab his hand and turn it as needed. She pulls back after her brief inspection, rolling her own stool to a small desk and starting to scratch out a stencil.

Feeling ridiculous and a bit territorial, Louis picks up the discarded hand and runs his thumb against the spot that’s still bare.

“Is this dumb?” he asks.

Zayn laughs. “Probably not. You’re always going to be in m’life, Lou. A little breakup or somethin’ ain’t gonna change that.”

Louis only realises he’s tightened his grip when Zayn laughs again and tugs his hand free.

“Calm down, nutter,” Zayn teases.

“Not breaking up,” Louis says.

“Yeah, ‘course we’re not.”

Mollified, Louis backs up and hops onto the table nearby, kicking his toes against Zayn’s seat until the artist- Sheila, Louis suddenly remembers- rolls back over.

“Ready?” Sheila asks, laying the stencil out when Zayn nods and offers his hand. She pulls it up- taking more care than the genuinely small tattoo warrants- before looking to Zayn to confirm its placement.

Louis’ heart skips a beat when Zayn smiles and looks up at him as if to verify that Louis likes it, too. He drags his gaze away for a second- irritated that the simple act of getting an honest-to-god couple tattoo with Zayn is turning him back into a melodramatic teen- and is pleased to see Sheila hasn’t looked away from Zayn’s face. Consummate professional, she seems, completely uninterested in anyone but Zayn’s opinion on Zayn’s tattoo. Louis can appreciate people who put Zayn first, as he seems to tag himself at his own lowest priority.

“Looks perfect,” Louis finally hears Zayn say, his smile still evident in his voice. He risks looking back to see Zayn biting against a grin as Sheila gets the needle started.

The buzzing sound lulls Louis into a nearly dozing state, his eyes watering as he watches without blinking. The stencil fills quickly with black ink, the shine a sharp contrast to the matte of Zayn’s skin. He smiles when it’s over, shaking the daze from his head. Sheila wraps Zayn’s hand and explains after-care instructions quickly.

“Next up, then,” Sheila says, patting Zayn’s knee softly before he stands and Louis slides into his spot. “Same thing?”

“Uh, kind of,” he says, slipping his hand into his trouser pocket and pulling out a slip of paper. He hands it to her. “I want mine to look like writing.”

“Sure. Where do you want it?”

Louis nearly laughs when his instinct is to look up at Zayn, a complete role reversal from moments before. Zayn’s in on the joke as well, mimicking the slight drag of finger against skin as he trails a path beneath Louis’ bird tattoo.

Sheila tracks the motion with her eyes, nodding and rolling away to stencil it again quickly before setting Louis up and starting her machine.

The parlour is mostly dark up front but their area is well-lit in juxtaposition. Louis looks everywhere but at the tattoo needle, trying to act like this is just another day, another city, another doodle on his arm. But then he catches Zayn’s eye almost on accident and sees something there he’s never noticed before.

He’s seen the way Zayn pouts when his mum’s scolding him, the way he smiles when a fan says something sweet, the way he breaks a bit when he thinks he’s letting someone down. He’s seen his eyes go dark with lust, bright with mirth and shiny with tears. He’d seen it all, but-

The _longing_ in Zayn’s eyes almost seems tangible, right now. It feels like a siren’s call. Louis can’t make himself look away, hopes his own face is reflecting every bit of it back because all he ever wants is for Zayn to know how much he longs for him in return. Because, no matter how long they’ve been together, Louis doesn’t want to take the chance that Zayn might ever forget how much Louis loves him.

Sheila wraps his arm before he realises she’s even done, giving him the same spiel she’d given Zayn. He nods in all the right places and then he’s standing, crossing the foot of space to get to Zayn, and then reaching up to thumb at Zayn’s jawline and tilt his chin up to slot their mouths together for a sweet, brief kiss.

“What’s that for, then?” Zayn asks around a laugh when Louis steps back.

“I just-“ Louis trails off for a moment, thinking. He leans his forehead against Zayn’s. “I love you, yeah?”

“You better. You just branded yourself for life to me.”

“I would,” Louis says quickly.

They’ve had this conversation so many times he has all of Zayn’s responses memorised. He knows exactly what he’s saying when he smiles and the corners of his eyes crinkle. Zayn probably knows what Louis’ saying when he ducks in for a kiss again. ‘Not now’ and ‘soon’ and ‘one day, we will.’

 

 

**_a little later, it’s intense_ **

As much as ‘Bus 1’ will always be inked on his skin and have a place in his heart, Louis’ found a bit of reserved love for hotel rooms. He still maintains that it’s nice being in the bunks- in the home away from home with its familiar smells and sounds and way of existing- but there’s something to be said for rolling over in a swanky hotel bed, light shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him colouring Zayn’s skin caramel soft and sweet.

He lifts his head to check the bedside clock, stifling a groan when he sees it’s a full hour before their alarm- the first of many, as they’re both quite awful about getting up in the morning- is set to go off. He tries to nuzzle into the exposed curve of Zayn’s shoulder but his nose must be too cold because Zayn just grunts in his sleep and shifts away, a pout on his lips.

Affronted and accepting it as a challenge, Louis tucks his feet back under the sheets from where they’d been sticking out. He presses his ice-cold toes to Zayn’s warm calf, smirking when Zayn’s eyes flutter open and a scowl appears on his lips.

“Louis, ger’off,” he mumbles, sacrificing an arm to the cold and attempting to push at Louis’ shoulder.

“Wake up,” Louis says, catching Zayn’s hand and pressing it against his chest, smiling when Zayn’s eyes close again and he turns to face away. “Zayn,” he whines, drawing out the vowel sound.

“Lou, go t’sleep.”

“Can’t,” Louis pouts. “Wake up and play with me.”

He doesn’t have to see Zayn’s face to know a smirk is fighting with the corner of his lips, the sharp huff of laughter he hears a dead giveaway that he’s breaking Zayn’s resolve. He slides closer again, dragging the tip of his nose along the back of Zayn’s neck.

“Cold, Lou,” Zayn whimpers, but he doesn’t move. If anything, he tucks his chin down so he’s more exposed, sighing when Louis follows with a press of his lips.

“Sorry, babe,” he apologises. “Let me under the covers with ya and I won’t be cold much longer.”

“Your lines could use some work,” Zayn grunts, but he releases his death-tight grip on the duvet so Louis can slide underneath, close to Zayn’s back but not yet touching.

“Out of practice,” he says off-hand, smirking as he warms his hands on his own stomach before letting them slide around Zayn’s waist. He tugs him against his chest. “Haven’t been on the pull in awhile. Bit rusty.”

“S’okay, don’t mind,” Zayn murmurs, hallway to sleep again.

“No, Zayn, wake _up_ ,” Louis urges, pressing his hips insistently to the barely-there curve of Zayn’s arse. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I’m sure of that,” Zayn says sincerely. He rolls back over in Louis’ arms, their limbs knocking until they’re facing each other. “Morning,” he says, eyes still mostly closed but smile sweet.

“Morning.”

Louis leans forward, pressing his lips to Zayn’s for a gentle, closed-mouthed kiss. He ignores the stale taste of sleep in both their mouths as he coaxes Zayn’s lips open, tracing his tongue along the seam slightly. Always a bit congested in the mornings, they breathe through their mouths and kiss too slowly for any real purpose, and Louis pulls back after a few long minutes.

“Love you, but your breath is absolutely horrid,” Zayn teases, eyes fully open and shining bright in the morning sunlight still cascading in from the windows.

Louis grins back, leaning in for one more kiss before rolling out of bed and making his way to the bathroom. He pisses and brushes his teeth, shuffling to the side when Zayn follows him a moment later and mimics his routine. There’s a folded jumper on the chair near the doorway to the balcony, and Louis hands it to Zayn before they head out.

It might have been Liam’s at one point, the sleeves hanging to Zayn’s fingertips when he tugs it over his hair. His fringe flops a bit in his face, still soft from his shower the night before and Louis pulls him forward for another kiss.

They walk out onto the balcony together, keeping close to the doorwall to avoid any fans that may be lingering below, though the area is quiet enough Louis thinks their hotel may still be unknown. They share a cigarette and bottle of water, fingers linked subtly until they finish and head back inside, both of them eager for where the morning is headed.

Whipping off his shirt and slipping back under the duvet, Louis lays flat on his back and encourages Zayn to swing a leg over his hips, thighs tight against his sides as he straddles his waist. The duvet gathers behind him.

“Hi,” Zayn says, black hair falling down into his eyes. He rolls his hips forward just a hint, enough that Louis can feel where he’s soft in his pajama bottoms.

“Gonna take them off?” Louis asks, his voice sounding breathy even to his own ears, always a mess when he’s the focus of Zayn’s attention like this.

“Might do,” Zayn agrees, though he makes no move to follow through. Instead he presses his hips forward again as he leans down, one elbow planted near Louis’ shoulder as his free hand slides along Louis’ bare arm and around the back of his neck, tugging him forward for a kiss.

It’s insistent but still gentle. Though they’ve been awake for nearly thirty minutes, there’s a sleepy quality to the way Zayn rocks against him. It’s like a haze in the air, the way everything is slow and lazy but not lacking in intent. It buzzes the blood in Louis’ body.

They don’t speak but the room is far from silent. The mattress makes soft sounds when they move about, Louis rolling on top of Zayn for a moment before Zayn pulls them both onto their sides, one of Louis’ thighs still hooked over Zayn’s hip. The duvet has long since been kicked to the foot of the bed. The air conditioning hums softly in the background, a slight chill to the air that could probably fuck their voices for the show tomorrow if they don’t remember to turn it off for the night. Even the sounds of the birds outside can be heard, chirping and whistling loudly enough that they can pretend they’re in the middle of nowhere instead of a bustling city with forty thousand fans counting down the hours until their show.

In between and above any of those sounds, though, are the hitches in their breaths as they rock together, the whine in their throats when Zayn hikes Louis’ leg up higher to press in closer, and the choked off moans as their cocks line up perfectly through the thin material separating them, rubbing against each other until Louis’ nails are digging into Zayn’s biceps as he jerks and comes in his pants like he’s a teenager again with his first boyfriend.

“Fuck, babe,” Zayn says, his first words in so long.

Louis grins, unashamed, and reaches down to push Zayn’s pants around his thighs. He licks his hand before wrapping it around Zayn’s length, pulling in tight strokes. And, though he’s seen it so many times he’s got it committed to memory, the way Zayn’s face goes slack as he punches his fist will never cease to be his most favorite sight.

Grunts and bitten-off gasps spill from Zayn’s mouth until his hips lose their rhythm and he stills, a nasal whine replacing the sounds as he coats Louis’ fist. “Fucking shit fuck,” he says as he jerks through an aftershock.

“Y’alright?” Louis teases as Zayn finally pulls back and away from his hand, landing on his side and pressing a sleepy kiss to Louis’ shoulder as he closes his eyes.

Blinking up at him and frowning from his pinched eyebrows to the sweet downturn of his mouth, Zayn opens his mouth to say something in response, but then the piercing sound of their alarm splits through the air, startling them out of their post-orgasmic haze.

“Make it stop,” Zayn commands, rolling away and pressing a palm to his forehead, the sheets deliciously rumpled underneath his naked body.

Louis follows orders amiably, rolling away from Zayn for the brief seconds it takes him to fumble with his mobile and quiet it. When he turns back, Zayn hasn’t moved. Feeling naughty and still on-edge, Louis shifts closer.

“We’ve got time until the next one goes off,” he says.

For a brief moment, Zayn stays completely still and Louis’ half-convinced he’s already fallen asleep and hasn’t heard him. Then Zayn moves his hand, eyes bright as a smirk pulls his lips up at the corners as he glances over at Louis.

“C’mon then,” he says as he gets his hands on Louis’ hips and drags him in closer.

 

 

**_in the end, it’s real_ **

The sounds of laughter and small talk cut off as the crowd of guests turn as one and focus on Niall where he’s stood at the top table.

“It’s funny how some things just happen sometimes,” he starts. He looks around, catching Louis’ eye and grinning. For a moment, he’s the lad they met on The X Factor, sixteen and full up of ambition and talent. Then he turns back to the rest of the guests and Louis sees the fine wrinkles that’ve formed near the corners of his eyes, the healthy shine of his brown hair that’s never been touched by bleach, and the way his hand settles on Harry’s shoulder almost automatically.

“When Louis and Zayn told us they were getting married, we thought they were joking. Not because they weren’t in love- everyone that’s ever met them can tell _that_ \- but because we all still feel a bit like we’re not ‘real adults’ and there’s nothing more adult-y than getting married.”

He pauses for the laugh that passes through the room. Harry’s looking up at him, their bodies still connected by Niall’s hand. His smile is brighter than anyone else’s.

“But they did it. They sat down, had a conversation that somehow ended with them deciding to get married. They skipped the elaborate proposal and went straight into wedding planning. They tasted cakes, went for tux fittings and put together an actually decent playlist- the last one with some help from me, of course.” Pause for another laugh.

Niall looks to Louis again, a silent question passing between them as if Niall’s still checking that what he’s about to do is okay. Louis smiles, remembering the way Niall had first approached them to check that it was okay to ‘steal their thunder on their big day’. As if.

Harry suddenly looks confused, following Niall’s gaze. Louis meets his eye evenly until Harry looks back to his boyfriend. Louis feels Zayn press up behind him as much as he can from his own seat, his arms coming around his waist and linking their fingers together. Their wedding rings clink together, a sound that’s so new- hardly an hour having passed since they’d exchanged vows- but somehow already so natural feeling.

“The thing is: we _are_ adults now. And we make decisions every day. So, while Louis and Zayn made the decision for themselves to skip the proposal part of the engagement, I don’t think Harry would ever forgive me.”

“Wait, what?” Harry asks, suddenly understanding.

Niall grins as he takes a knee, the picture of nerves as though there’s any chance of rejection. Harry’s already nodding before Niall even starts speaking.

“Haz, I had a lot planned to say. I wrote it all down and went through so many drafts. I thought every word had to be perfect, had to be the right word, but then I just- I realised that I just had to ask you. So I’m going to. Harry will you, please, marry me?”

There’s a shine to Niall’s eyes when Harry stands and pulls him up, murmuring ‘yes’ into his mouth again and again as they kiss, almost putting Louis and Zayn’s first kiss as husbands to shame.

The wedding guests all clap and hoot and holler, some stomping their feet as the kiss goes on and on until the rest of the top table gets up to pry them apart for a round of hugs and congratulations. All of the noise that had been filling the reception hall before Niall’s speech returns in full force, and Louis finds that he’s lost track of the others.

Looking around, he sees Liam stood off to the side, suspiciously ducking his head.

“How are you _still_ crying? How have you not run out of tears? During the ceremony, you were blubbering worse than me mum.”

Liam looks up at that, almost startled at having been caught wiping at his eyes. Louis smiles- has done nothing _but_ smile for what feels like hours now- and lets Liam tug him into a hug.

“You Paynes and your weepy ways,” Louis continues teasing, heaving a long-suffering sigh and delighting when Liam’s arms tighten around his waist.

“Shut up, Lou,” he hears from behind him, pulling back from Liam and turning to face Zayn- his _husband_ now, fuck- and feeling his cheeks actually start to hurt from the way his smile tries impossibly to grow even larger.

“Bossing me around already?” he says, a bounce in his step as he moves to tuck himself under Zayn’s arm.

“For the rest of my life,” Zayn says, his voice laced with a promise.

Louis doesn’t have to look away from Zayn’s hazel eyes to know that Liam’s bringing his tissue to eyes again. He gets a hand around the back of Zayn’s neck, pulling him down until their lips meet.

“I love you,” he whispers when they pull back.

“I love you,” Zayn echoes.

Behind Louis, Liam blows his nose.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
